


Let this ink speak the words I can't

by dot_the_writer



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (somewhat), Advent Fic, Christmas Fluff, Dementor's Kiss, Epistolary, Firewhiskey (Harry Potter), Fluff, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Post-Second War with Voldemort, mention of Astronomy Tower death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-05 09:40:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 17,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16808095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dot_the_writer/pseuds/dot_the_writer
Summary: Back to Hogwarts for eighth year, Harry has fallen into a comfortable routine.But that's before the letters start.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This _should_ update once a day from now until Christmas Eve, but life is busy and I apologise in advance if I miss a day here or there. Tags will be updated as the story continues, and I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Find me on Tumblr at [all-drarry-to-me](https://all-drarry-to-me.tumblr.com/).

By the time December hit, the grounds were covered in a skiff of snow and school was well underway. Harry had fallen into a comfortable routine: spending time with Ron and Hermione, attending classes, eating too much treacle tart and playing pick-up games of Quidditch with some of his friends.

It was… nice, he supposed. After the war, after losing so many friends, so many people he cared about, this was easy. It was good to have security — to be home. There was no Dark Lord this time, no Horcruxes drawing his focus or Death Eaters attempting to enter Hogwarts. It was safe.

It was also boring.

Harry had never been able to sit still for long, had never been able to focus on lessons and homework. Maybe he was born that way, or maybe it had been ingrained after seven years of fighting for his life instead of paying attention to lectures. Either way, he was ready for something to happen, ready for excitement.

What was Hogwarts if not an opportunity for adventure? For mischief?

* * *

The first letter arrived on a Saturday.

Ron had come into his dorm and hit him with a pillow to wake him up — they were missing _breakfast,_ for Merlin’s sake — and Harry had forced himself up and out of bed. The ceiling was snowing as they entered the Great Hall, emulating the flakes falling outside on the grounds. It was the little things, like the ceiling and the trick step on the stairs that reminded Harry of being a first year and his introduction to magic.

This year was different, in a myriad of ways — there was no way of pretending it wasn’t, when they were still surrounded by memories of the final battle — but Harry could still remember stepping into the Great Hall for the sorting ceremony, Ron already a permanent fixture by his side. He remembered the cheer rising from Gryffindor table as he was sorted into their house. He’d never been the recipient of excitement like that before.

The rush of owls came as they ate breakfast, scattering the day’s post over the four tables. Harry was no stranger to receiving mail; the school had been forced to renew and enhance their wards to dispel love potions when Harry had returned in September.

Rumour had it they also put new wards up to stop Howlers from reaching the Slytherins.

Following the horde was a solitary tawny owl. It was small, but its feathers were a beautiful mix of white and different browns. In its beak, it carried a single letter, which it swooped down to deliver to Harry. It wasn’t a bird he was familiar with, but it had the multi-coloured band around one foot marking it as a Hogwarts owl.

The envelope was cream, the black ink of his name the only thing marring the otherwise perfect parchment. There was a seal on the back, icy-grey wax with a star pushed into it. Harry sat, breakfast forgotten, as he turned the parchment over in his hands.

He almost recognised the writing, but like a word on the tip of his tongue, he couldn’t place where he had seen it before.

Ron looked at him, swallowing a bite of eggs before speaking. “Are you going to open it? Or do you think another love potion got through McGonagall’s defences?” He eyed the letter cautiously, still traumatised by having professed his love for Romilda Vane in sixth year.

Harry let out a shaky laugh before opening the letter. He wasn’t worried, not about being poisoned, but something still told him to be cautious.

It was short, just half a page filled with perfect cursive:

_When I was younger, sometimes even now, I thought you’d be the one to understand. I’ve begun to see the irony in it: You’re the least likely to understand._

_My mind healer told me I should stop repressing my emotions, and actually deal with them. Easy to say when you’re a middle-aged hippie; harder to do when you’re me. But this letter is supposed to be a start._

_Maybe you wouldn’t understand me — and, as I’ve realised, maybe I’ll never understand you — but I do know that you’ve somehow inspired me to be better this year._

_Thanks for that._


	2. Chapter 2

Harry didn’t forget about the letter, but weekends were busy enough that he had other concerns.

Over the summer, a handful of students had started volunteering at Hogwarts, working to rebuild the castle. Harry hadn’t wanted to return to Grimmauld Place — he wasn’t ready for it, maybe he never would be — so he split his time between the Burrow and Hogsmeade, spending many of his days around the castle grounds.

The work wasn’t finished when September rolled around, and so the students continued on the weekends. Hermione always encouraged the three of them to spend a few hours (minimum) studying on Saturday afternoons, but Sundays were spent doing what they could for the castle.

In the summer, much of the work was getting classrooms ready for students. They fixed walls and righted tables, mended the stone and cleaned spell marks off the classroom walls. They needed to do enough that there was no question of Hogwarts being able to reopen. In the fall, they worked on the grounds under Hagrid’s leadership, making sure the magical creatures would have space to return.

And in the winter, it was all the little things they hadn’t yet had time for. Today, Harry, Ron and Hermione were tasked with cleaning the right-hand side of the third-floor corridor.

The corridor hadn’t been of true interest to the trio since their first year and all the nasty business of the stone. None of the rooms were in active use for students, so it had been deemed less important to fix.

But as the three of them made their way through, wreckage of the battle was everywhere.

They started work in a small classroom. Harry felt it strange to be back, for the final battle to be over and for them to return to where they stood, all those years ago. Still, it was routine work; they cast spells to repair damage and checked for dark objects.

Bored, Ron filled Hermione in on what she had missed at breakfast the day before.

“Merlin, Harry — you should know better than to open mail when you don’t recognise the sender! Did you even check to see if it was cursed?” She gestured to the space around them. “I know you have experience with that spell.”

Harry shrugged. “It was a school owl. And besides — it wasn’t cursed. I’m fine, ‘Mione.”

“You should be grateful I was in the library,” she said, shaking her head in frustration. “What did the letter say, anyway?”

“It was…” Harry paused. “Almost hero worship at parts? But also _completely_ not.”

“That makes no sense,” Hermione responded, her focus split between cleaning the room and listening to Harry.

“I know, but that’s the best way I can describe it. Like whoever wrote it doesn’t want to like me, but they also think I’m a good person.”

Hermione nodded, pensive, and Ron laughed.

“Mate, that could be a whole lot of people. Just about any of the Slytherins, or someone you beat at Quidditch over the years, someone who’s jealous that you’re famous — and that’s assuming it’s a student.”

He thought for a moment, then continued. “You also embarrassed Dean and Seamus in the Great Hall last week — how did you not know they were dating? — and spilled pumpkin juice all over Pansy Parkinson.”

Hermione let out a giggle. “Oh, Harry. Just be careful, okay? And let us know if there are more letters.”

As it it heard them talking, there was a sharp peck at the window as an owl announced itself. With a glance at Harry and Ron, Hermione opened the window and let it inside.

It flew to Harry, an envelope identical to the one yesterday clutched in its grasp.

_When I picked up my quill yesterday and began writing you a letter, it was actually meant to be an apology. But is an apology real if, put in the same situation, you would make the same decisions? How can I begin to apologise for my actions when I would repeat them?_

_That isn’t to say I don’t regret the outcomes they caused, but that’s a whole other conversation. So I thought I’d save my breath, but the damn parchment kept staring at me, daring me to write something to you._

_So here you have it. I’m sorry my actions had consequences that harmed others. Though I’m not sure my choices could have been anything other than what they were._

Harry couldn’t help but laugh as he finished reading the letter.

“Is this another?” Ron asked.

He nodded, holding it out for his friends to read.

Hermione scanned it, then looked at Harry, a knowing glint in her brown eyes. “Do you know —”

“Who it’s from?” Harry interrupted. “No idea; they aren’t signed.”

“They don’t necessarily have to be signed for you to know who wrote them — everyone has a style in which they write, and handwriting is often distinctive.”

Harry nodded, but his mind was already distracted. “Do you have a quill?”

Hermione pulled one out of her bag, giving him a look as if to say the answer should have been obvious.

He tore off the blank section of parchment at the bottom, and scribbled four words before attaching the note to the patiently-waiting owl.

**_You’re shite at apologies._ **


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To make it a bit clearer, our unnamed letter writer is _italics_ (as it has been), and Harry is now **_bold italics_**.

The next letter came in the morning, the same tawny owl pecking at the window next to Harry’s head. The sun had barely risen, casting golden light around the dormitory.

_ That wasn’t an apology, you prat. _

_ I can apologise — I could write you a list of all the horrible things I’ve done and confess my undying regret at my actions, the outcomes; I could use all these high-society words and put droplets of water on the page to make it look like I sobbed while reliving my choices. I could come to you with an offer of peace, a handshake to seal the deal. _

_ But I think the overwhelming fakeness, the entire pretense of it, I think that would offend us both. _

Harry glanced at his roommate, still asleep, before letting the owl back out the window. The letters were never signed, though he assumed it was a student. Probably either his year or a seventh year; it seemed like they were heavily involved in the war, and quite possibly on the wrong side. The obvious answer was a Slytherin, namely Malfoy, but Harry couldn’t imagine Draco picking up a quill and writing something to him, especially not out of the blue like the first letter had been.

He knew he’d been a bit obsessed with Malfoy, probably starting in sixth year and lasting until, well, at least the end of the war. He was making a conscious effort this year to not blame Malfoy for things without first having proof.

And here, he had none. Only a couple of letters and envelopes with nothing more than his name and a star-shaped seal.

They’d barely spoken since school started, but much of the animosity had faded in the aftermath of the battle. Harry didn’t have the energy to be angry anymore.

So many students hadn’t returned, their parents transferring the living to Durmstrang or Beauxbatons and burying the dead. The first years were the smallest class seen by the school in years; parents wanted their children away from the sight of a war, away from the new ghosts and the crumbling stone.

But for Harry, and for many of the returning students, Hogwarts was home. He wouldn’t abandon it now.

With only a handful of eighth year students, their house affiliations had been, for the most part, stripped away. Partly for space, as the existing dorms could only hold seven years’ worth of students, and partly for “the promotion of inter-house cooperation” (as McGonagall had put it, repeating the phrase until it had lost all meaning), the eighth years were rooming in a new dormitory, in pairs.

Which led to where Harry was now: sleeping a few feet from Michael Corner, with Ron and Blaise Zabini sharing the room across the hall. Arguably, Harry had the better situation, but having dated two of the same girls, things had always been a little awkward between him and Corner.

Harry had disliked Blaise initially, on the sole basis of being a Slytherin and having been associated with Malfoy. He knew that wasn’t fair, but Blaise was posh and proper; he was sophisticated and had the sort of eyes that made you want to trust him and the conniving smile that said he would stab you in the back in a heartbeat. But one night, poorly hidden under the invisibility cloak, Harry and Ron watched as Blaise had comforted a crying Slytherin, a first year who had just been sorted.

After that, he reassessed his thoughts regarding Blaise.

The new dorms tried to hide the absences, but they were still conspicuous. There were a handful of eighth years that hadn’t returned, for various reasons. Terry Boot, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Susan Bones. Daphne Greengrass. Goyle.

Harry kicked off his blankets, still thinking about the letter.

He couldn’t fall back to sleep, so he got up and got dressed, throwing on a Weasley jumper for warmth. He made his way to the owlery, found the tawny bird and attached a small roll of parchment to its foot.

**_Bit dramatic, aren’t you?_ **

**_You say you regret the outcomes of your choices, but not the decisions themselves. Were you really so backed into a corner that you had no other options? No other — potentially better — choices that could have led to the same outcome? Whatever it is that made your actions worth it?_ **

He watched it fly away, becoming a spot in the low smattering of clouds before disappearing altogether.

Harry didn’t have to wait long before the bird returned. This time there was no fancy envelope, just a torn piece of parchment. 

_ You, calling me dramatic? Pot, meet kettle. _

_ The war was less than a year ago, the final battle only about six months ago. I don’t know that I’ve yet gained the perspective necessary to see if the other options I was provided with would have had such a favourable outcome for the ones I care about. _

_ If you weren’t you — weren’t the one in the prophecy, didn’t have the scar — wouldn’t you have done anything possible to save your parents, if they had still been alive? _

_ I know I can be insensitive, believe me, enough people have told me that, but I’m honestly asking. _

Harry flipped the parchment over, his hand shaking as he gathered his thoughts.

**_I don’t have to explain my actions — hypothetical or otherwise — to you._ **

The response was quick.

_ You don’t. _

_ But that wasn’t a no. _


	4. Chapter 4

“They’re so infuriating,” Harry whispered. Hermione was making them spend their free period in the library, but Ron was easily distracted and Harry was still agitated from the last exchange of letters.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be corresponding with unknown people over owl,” Hermione responded, her eyes never raising from the book in front of her.

“I —” Harry paused. He knew she was right. “They owled me first though,” he hissed. “And it’s only one person.”

Hermione raised her head at that, just enough to roll her eyes.

“Just be careful, okay?” Ron said. “Hermione and I are here if you feel like you’re in over your head.”

Harry smiled, always grateful for Ron. His friends knew he wouldn’t stop corresponding with the stranger; they knew that was asking too much of his nonexistent restraint.

Classes were uneventful, as they had been for the majority of the year. Sometimes, Harry questioned why he had returned; McGonagall had highly recommended the eighth years finish their education, but she hadn't forced any of them. Academically, he wanted his N.E.W.T.s, but with Hermione’s tutelage, he was sure he could have taken them without setting foot back in the castle.

It was hard to sit in lectures after having been on the run, after defeating Voldemort. He knew Ron felt the same. As for Hermione, she would probably spend the rest of her life absorbing information in a classroom if given the option.

She had always been too smart for her own good.

Still, for every moment of doubt, there were plenty of moments filled with joy, and now — for the first time since coming back — adventure. He knew he shouldn’t be corresponding with someone he didn’t know, but the thing was, Harry was convinced he did know whoever was behind the letters. There was something so familiar about them, but he just couldn’t place it.

The way they had left things was nagging at him, and he decided to take the first step this time.

Free period almost over, they started to pack their books. Harry finished first, as he had taken only the bare minimum out, and turned to Ron and Hermione.

“I’ll meet you in class, okay? I’m just going to make a quick stop on the way”

They shared a look, and Hermione nodded. “We’ll see you there.”

Harry could see his breath in the cold air as he made his way to the owlery and found the bird he was looking for. On a torn piece of parchment, he scribbled his message.

**_I attempted to cast Crucio on a Death Eater who killed someone I love._ **

He didn’t know why, all of a sudden, that moment with Bellatrix was suddenly weighing on his chest, didn’t know why he felt it necessary to confess, but he knew that he wanted to.

Even with fingers numb from the cold, Harry wanted to wait for a response, but he was probably going to be late to Care of Magical Creatures as it was.

Lost in thought on the way to class, his Seeker reflexes were no use against the onslaught of snowballs. He heard Hermione’s giggle and a yell from Seamus as he fell backwards, landing on his arse and sending a plume of fresh flakes into the air.

He laughed harder than he had in ages; even the feeling of snow melting in his hair and obscuring his vision wasn’t enough to dull his mood.

From the ground, he watched as the Slytherin trio walked by, Pansy in the middle with her arms hooked through those of Blaise and Malfoy. He caught Malfoy’s eye, for a moment, and saw something almost akin to jealousy there.

* * *

The owl didn’t find Harry until well after dinner, when he was already in his pyjamas and curled up in bed. The window was open, blowing cold air through the dorm, and Harry was startled when a warm weight settled on his chest.

Another cream envelope, another icy-grey star on the back. Harry grabbed his wand a cast a quiet  _ Lumos _ , the spell casting a soft light inside his curtains.

_ That’s the worst you’ve done? “Attempt” the Cruciatus curse? _

There were several lines blacked out after it.

_ Sorry, long day. _

_ Do you subscribe to the notion that people fit into either the category of “good” or “bad”? That there’s no in between? No room to switch once you’ve landed yourself in the “bad” category? _

Harry held the note in his hands for a moment before grabbing a blank piece of parchment and tearing off the bottom. He thought of Peter Pettigrew, one of his dad’s closest friends for almost a decade.

**_No. I don’t think most people are as easy to divide as we would like them to be._ **

And he thought of Blaise, crouching in front of a first year and telling her all the good things about being a Slytherin to help stop her tears.

**_I think people would like it to be that easy — to judge someone once and to never again have to question their loyalty, their motives, who they are and what they stand for._ **

**_But I think that forces a vast simplification of people._ **

Harry thought of Sirius, condemned by the world and okay with it for the time being, because Harry knew he was innocent.

**_If your friends know the truth of who you are — and I assume we’re talking about you — isn’t that enough for now?_ **

He sent it off before thinking further about what he had written, the pieces of himself he was laying bare to an unnamed person at the other end.

The reply came quickly.

_ For now, I suppose. _

_ As much as I hate to say it: Thank you. _


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's sticking with the story! <3 I'm having fun writing it and I hope you're all enjoying.

Holiday spirit had hit the students in abundance, it seemed. All of a sudden there were festive lights and baubles, as well as a myriad of mistletoe in the corridors and the classrooms, as well as just about everywhere one wouldn’t think to look.

Harry was careful as he traversed through the castle. Winning the war and defeating Voldemort had made him even more popular, and despite the well-known fact that he was pants at relationships, it seemed a handful of students were intent on trapping him for a holiday kiss.

He made his way, luckily without incident, up to the eighth year common room and towards the dorms. The door to Ron’s room opened just as he was reaching up to knock, and he found himself face to face with Blaise, Pansy and Malfoy. Without thinking, he stepped in front of them.

He and Blaise, while not friends, had reached a casual acceptance of each other — from Malfoy and Pansy though, he received twin expressions of distrust and raised eyebrows.

“Malfoy,” Harry started, almost tripping over his words in his haste to speak them. “I don’t think you’re a bad person.” Their expressions didn’t change. “I just… thought you should know?”

Pansy started giggling, pulling Blaise down the hallway as she continued laughing harder. From Malfoy, he received the ghost of a smile.

As he entered the dorm, he prayed the blush across his cheeks wasn’t as obvious as it felt.

Of course, he had no such luck.

Ron lay sprawled out across his unmade bed, Hermione sitting primly on the corner.

“Aww, you’re blushing!” Ron laughed, a shite-eating grin across his face. “As entertaining as that was, what _was_ that?”

“I just,” Harry muttered, “thought it would be good for him to know.”

Hermione sighed. “Are you going to become obsessed again?”

“I wasn’t —” Harry spluttered. “I’m not —”

She cut him off. “Look, I don’t have time to tell you that whatever daft thing you think Malfoy’s done now, he hasn’t. Okay?”

“I don’t think he’s up to anything!”

From the look Hermione levelled at him, she’d first believe that Nargles were real.

“I don’t! But I was talking, well, writing — what’s that look for?” Harry glanced back and forth between his friends, feeling like he was missing an important, unspoken piece of the conversation.

“What does your letter writer have to do with Malfoy?”

“They’re not _my_ letter writer, they just write me letters.”

“Mmhmm,” Hermione hummed.

“As I was saying,” Harry started again, speaking over Hermione. “We were writing each other last night and it reminded me of something that Sirius said. We’ve all made mistakes; many of us have done unspeakable things. But sometimes we need to be reminded that we’re still _good_.”

Hermione reached out and grasped Harry’s hand. “Are you still seeing the mind healer?”

Harry shook his head. “I finished the required sessions.”

“I know; I did too. But I’m still going. Ron too. And Ginny.”

“I’m doing better though.”

“Are you still taking Dreamless Sleep?” she asked, voice soft.

Harry paused for a moment, thinking of when he last took a dose. “I still have the bottle, but I haven’t needed it in a few nights.”

She squeezed his hand before letting go. “Just remember that talking it out can sometimes do more good than medicine, though both have their benefits.”

He nodded. “I am talking though. With you both, and we’ve skirted around the war in the letters.”

She smiled, though it didn’t fully reach her eyes. “Okay, Harry. Just don’t be afraid if you find that’s not enough.”

The owl found him later that evening, when he was working on his Defence Against the Dark Arts essay in the common room, just a couple of other eighth years around.

_I see they put the mistletoe up._

Harry yawned, grateful for the distraction.

**_McGonagall’s on a warpath to find out who it was, you know. Heard her muttering that it’s almost like having the Weasley twins back — I’m wondering who she was stuck with..._ **

**_Fancy a mistletoe-forced snog with anyone?_ **

The response was quick.

_Don’t — and I mean ever — make me picture McGonagall kissing someone from school. Ugh, too late. You think it was with Filch? Who else could make her have that strong of a reaction?_

_And I suppose, though it doesn’t sound very romantic when you put it like that._

Harry couldn’t help but laugh at the mental picture that left him with.

**_Well, as someone who has been forced into a few kisses under the mistletoe, I would say it’s rarely very romantic._ **

_Ahh, and you’re all about the romance? I’ll make sure to spread the word in the Potter Fan Club; I overheard some very serious fourth years today, creating plans of how to woo you._

Harry groaned.

**_Please, Merlin, don’t even joke. I only narrowly avoided some persistent sixth years today. At least they’re more age appropriate?_ **

_Don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret safe._

Harry paused before responding, surprised by how strongly he believed that to be true.

**_I know you will._ **


	6. Chapter 6

The letters kept coming after that, almost like their joking had shattered whatever arbitrary limits they had previously held. Harry had stayed up late to finish his essay, his handwriting increasing in size as he worked to fill the last few inches before heading to bed. When he woke, there was already an owl perched on his windowsill.

_I’d avoid taking the main stairs to the Great Hall, if I were you._

**_Do I want to know?_ **

_Those third years? They’re waiting to sneak you a love potion._

**_Were we that devious at their age? And where else am I supposed to go?_ **

_I sure wasn’t. I was a lovely child._

_But you, on the other hand… I’d say you more more devious than a bunch of love potion-brewing thirteen year olds. And don’t pretend that you don’t know a myriad of secret passages through the castle — no one gets into as much trouble as you do without being able to sneak around. Don’t you roam the halls at night for fun or something?_

**_You’re right. I brewed Polyjiuce Potion as a second year; I suppose that’s worse._ **

**_And no, not for fun — not usually, at least. Usually it was a bit more sinister than that, or rather, trying to prevent something sinister._ **

_I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. But Polyjuice Potion? Do you even know how many laws that broke?_

**_You sound like Hermione. Though she was instrumental in making the plan work._ **

_I’ll never stop being amazed with what you got away with while the rest of us paid attention in lectures._

_Might as well have a bit of fun now though — as the headmistress likes to keep reminding us, the war is over. We all get along now, right?_

Harry couldn’t help but laugh. McGonagall liked to bring “inter-house cooperation” up every chance she could, and while Harry understood the importance, but it was a bit much to hear five times before breakfast.

**_Well, I_ ** **am** **_Harry Potter…_ **

**_Suppose I could live for a little fun._ **

_You can’t see me, but I need you to know that I’m currently rolling my eyes. I always knew you were full of yourself._

**_I died at seventeen to save the world. You’re telling me I can’t be even a little narcissistic?_ **

_Stop._

_Being conceited doesn’t suit you, Potter. Being a messy-haired git? Now that you can pull off._

**_Does it suit you? I can feel the self-righteousness rolling off your letters; I worry it may be rubbing off on me._ **

_All I did was point out your flaws; there’s no need for snark._

He couldn’t help but laugh again as he pulled on his robes and left the dorm. He was already running a bit late to breakfast, since he had taken a break every few moments while getting ready in order to reply to the letters.

Running through the secret passageways, Harry was turning corners quickly with no regard for who else might be there — truthfully, he wasn’t expecting anyone else to be there. He was steps away from exiting the passageway and entering the Great Hall when he ran into none other than Malfoy.

Harry fell backwards, reaching out for something to hold onto and pulling Malfoy down with him. They landed hard, Malfoy’s hand around the back of Harry’s head, stopping it from hitting the stone ground.

Grey eyes stared into green, and it took Harry a moment to regain his senses. It seemed to take Malfoy a moment too, and when Harry tried to move, Malfoy was still on top of him, looking down.

“Sorry! Sorry,” Malfoy said, finally realising their positions and slowing standing. “Why am I not surprised it’s you, running through the halls with disregard?”

“Merlin, I didn’t think anyone else would be here. I’m sorry — I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Well,” Malfoy sniffed, a hint of his usual pride around him. “You rarely are.”

Harry was offended, but only for a moment: There was a soft smile around Malfoy’s face. If he was anyone else, Harry would think he was joking.

He took a breath. “Usually I’m more focused on other things. In this case, breakfast.”

“In that case, you should hurry.”

Harry nodded, and took the advice, making it to breakfast with just enough time to eat before the food was cleared.


	7. Chapter 7

“What do you mean,” Hermione hissed. “You haven’t even _asked_ them to tell you who they are?”

Harry shook his hand and glanced around, making sure she hadn’t drawn any unwanted attention. Binns was still droning on though, and most of the class was either asleep, passing notes or talking to their own neighbors.

“Why not?” she asked, insistent as always.

Harry shrugged. “I feel like they’re trusting my just by sending letters. I don’t want to break that.”

She turned fully in her seat to face him. “The person, whoever they are, knows that you’re Harry Potter. And more than your name, they seem to know you. They understand things about you. You have no desire to know who they are?”

He shifted, uncomfortable by the inquisition. “That’s not true; I want to know. But I don’t want to ruin it — I like them, ‘Mione, and I don’t want the letters to stop.”

She nodded sympathetically. “Just think about what you could be gaining if you learn who it is.”

Harry stared at the parchment in front of him.

“Unless,” she whispered. “Well, unless you’re worried about what you may find.”

* * *

Later, thinking over Hermione’s words, Harry feared there was some truth to it. He hadn’t asked himself why he wasn’t trying to figure out who the person was; hadn’t forced himself to think it though. Maybe he was worried he wouldn’t like what he found.

It could be admirer. It could be one of the pesky third years. Or an adult. While it seemed a bit immature for a Death Eater, there still were supporters of Voldemort on the loose. Someone could be trying to use him.

The whole thing could be an elaborate prank; he’d been nothing but honest in the letters, but that wasn’t to say the other person had been the same.

Thinking, maybe for the first time, about the consequences of his actions, Harry picked up his quill.

**_Tell me something about you no one knows._ **

The response was slow to come. Harry stood pacing in the dorm, wondering if the letter writer was busy, or if Harry had scared them off. But then the letter came.

Harry took a deep breath, relieved to see the owl flying in.

_Why?_

He wrote quickly, the ink smearing slightly across the page.

**_You know who I am; I just want to level the playing field a bit._ **

_The Astronomy Tower is my favourite place at school. Sometimes, when I sit up there, I think about what it would be like to fall, but the view is quite lovely while I ponder my existence._

_That enough for you?_

Harry took another deep breath.

**_Can’t say it’s what I was expecting you to say. Thought maybe you’d tell me an embarrassing story from childhood, or maybe something related to the war._ **

_What can I say? I like to surprise._

_But isn’t everything now related to the war though? While I enjoyed the Astronomy Tower before, my relationship to it has definitely changed over the years._

_I could have told you I was gay, but you asked for something no one else knows – I like to think the boys I’ve kissed had some idea of my sexuality._

Harry couldn’t help but laugh at the letter. He enjoyed the mystery writer’s sense of humor, their snark and ability to make light of — albeit in an unusual way — serious situations.

And the writer wasn’t lying: They definitely liked to surprise.


	8. Chapter 8

_ I told you I was gay and you stopped responding. Did I offend your delicate sensibilities? _

Harry paused. He had been corresponding with this person for about a week now, and believed he was starting to be able to read them, to see when they were covering or saying something just for the shock value of it. And here, through the tone was caustic, he detected a real bit of a hurt behind it, an honest question hidden in the blatant sarcasm.

**_Surprised, yes. Offended, no. It takes a lot more than coming out to scare me off._ **

_ It can be hard to know who’s going to cut ties once they know someone’s ‘extracurricular activities.’ I assumed you were better than that, but when my owl went unanswered, it was the logical conclusion to draw. _

**_You wound me so! How could you think so little of me?_ **

**_And the logical conclusion? I didn’t have you pegged as a Ravenclaw._ **

_ As long as you don’t think I’m a Hufflepuff, then I don’t mind what house you believe I’m from. _

**_You ever question the house the hat put you in?_ **

_ No. I would have had questions if I was placed anywhere else, though I suppose Ravenclaw would probably be my secondary. _

_ Is it something you think about? _

**_Sometimes. The hat thought I could be great in a house other than Gryffindor._ **

**_I’m still not sure if it was right._ **

His letter took a while to receive a response.

_ I think we place too much value in our house affiliations. We determine who could be good and bad based on the colors we’re given at age eleven — by a hat. For a long time it was believed that there was never a witch or wizard that had gone bad who wasn’t a Slytherin; is that fair to tell children being sorted? _

_ Who’s to say it’s good for us to be placed in a house with people who all share the same primary character trait? Is it positive for our learning to separate like that, instead of randomly? And honestly, after Hogwarts, I don’t see them meaning anything, except as a way to hold some of us back. _

**_I’m not disagreeing, but I met my two closest friends through my house, so I can’t say that there aren’t benefits._ **

_ Your closest friends could have easily sorted Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, you know. _

_ But do you not think you could have made friends in other houses? _

**_I have a very close friend in Ravenclaw — she’s been there for me in support and in battle. And I lost a friend, someone I really admired, who was a Hufflepuff._ **

**_It’s much easier to be friends with those in my house though; I see them all the time in class, in the common room, and while they could have been sorted into other houses, I wouldn’t have stayed friends with Ron and Hermione without the bonding aspect of Gryffindor._ **

_ I see you didn’t mention anyone in Slytherin. Can’t be friends with a snake? _

**_That’s not what I said — I have no issues with Slytherins, not really, but I’ve just never had the chance to connect with one._ **

_ Mmhmm. _

Agitated, Harry threw the letter down on his bed and paced in his room. He didn’t need to be made to feel bad for who his friends were. Harry knew that there was bias against Slytherins, knew that was an issue at Hogwarts and in the larger Wizarding World, but didn’t believe that he was a part of that problem.

He couldn’t be, right?


	9. Chapter 9

Harry dropped his books on one of the common room tables and fell into the empty chair.

“I’m ready to try and figure out who's sending the letters.”

Hermione sighed and looked up at Harry, marking the place in her book before closing it. Harry was surprised — for her to actually stop reading, it had to be serious.

“You still don’t know?”

Harry shook his head.

“They have to have given something away in the letters, mate. What have you been talking about?”

Harry turned to Ron. “I think — after last night — I think they’re a Slytherin. Probably our year or a seventh year.”

“Anything else?”

“The first couple letters came with a wax star on the back, but now most of the letters are scraps of paper, nothing so fancy.”

Hermione nodded. “You think they’re still at Hogwarts?”

“Yeah, I do.”

Hermione looked at Ron, speaking a silent conversation through widened eyes and slightly raised eyebrows.

Without waiting for them to respond, Harry spoke. “I want to investigate. Figure out who they are and how they know me.”

“Why not figure it out logically?” Hermione asked. “We can just narrow it down to the one, obvious —”

“I figure I can send a letter and watch where the owl goes,” Harry said, cutting her off. “Maybe send it while we’re in the Great Hall. Do you think the owl would come with me?”

“Harry —”

“Or, I can send it while you two are in the Great Hall with everyone.” He turned to Ron. “Would you tell me who it flies to?”

Ron looked towards Hermione, exasperation evident on her face, before shrugging. “Sure, mate. If that’s the only way for you to learn who it is. Though,” he paused. “It does seem a bit underhanded.”

“They know who I am; I only want the same.”

Harry looked up as the portrait opened and a group of Slytherins walked in, Blaise and Malfoy among them. “At least we can rule out a few people.”

Ron nodded at Blaise as he passed, before turning back to Harry. “Look, maybe you shouldn’t be so quick to rule anyone out. Just because you don’t want it to be someone . . .”

“What, you think Malfoy is sending me letters? I think this person cares about me.”

“Then maybe you should just  _ ask  _ them who they are. If they’re not telling you, then maybe it’s for a good reason,” Hermione huffed.

Harry slumped on the table. “You know I’m not good at being patient.”

“Trust me, I know,” she said, voice fond. “It’s why you and Ron work well together; he can at least slow you down a little.”

Ron laughed. “I can’t talk you out of this daft scheme if you’re set on it, but I would recommend waiting before doing anything rash."

Harry nodded “I’ll head to the owlery then.”

The snow was thick on the ground as Harry made his way, covered by his invisibility cloak.

**_I’m friends with you now, aren’t I? And you’re a Slytherin._ **

_ Bold of you to assume we’re friends, after a bit of correspondence. _

_ But yes, I am a Slytherin. _

**_Are you saying we aren’t friends?_ **

**_I enjoy talking with you — you can be annoying, but I think it’s more so how often you’re right that I find irritating. You’ve told me things other people don’t know; doesn’t that make us friends?_ **

_ Maybe I was wrong about you. This need to be friends — maybe you should have been a Hufflepuff. But sure, we’re friends. _

_ Though I’m not sure you’d feel the same if you knew who I was. _

_ I know you want to ask, I know how little patience you have for riddles and games, but I’m asking you to hold your questions for a bit longer. If you haven’t figured it out yet, then I’m asking you to not do anything rash while you think on it. _

**_It sounds like I should know who you are?_ **

_ I didn’t think I was being subtle, but at the same time, we’ve never spoken like this in person. I can see why you wouldn’t know. _

**_But you will tell me?_ **

Harry was starting to think his letter was going to be left unanswered when the owl appeared.

_ One way or another, if we keep writing, you’ll learn. There’s only so much I can say before your suspicion grows too great. _


	10. Chapter 10

Seamus pulled out a bottle of Firewhisky, and for the eighth years, that was reason enough to drink on a Tuesday.

At first, it was just the Gryffindors, Harry’s old roommates taking shots together in the common room, but it wasn’t long before they were joined by some Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws.

A couple hours and more than a few shots later, Harry ended up with his head in Ron’s lap and his feet in Hermione’s, and they were holding hands across his stomach.

“You three in?” Seamus yelled from his position on the floor.

The majority of the room was in a lopsided circle, with Seamus and the almost-empty bottle on one end.

Harry just laughed, while Ron and Hermione shook their heads. With his two friends, he was content where he was, happy to watch the party around him. He stayed like that for what felt like hours, but could have just been minutes. His limbs felt heavy and his brain was fuzzy, and he was happy to never have to move again.

Corner, of course, had to ruin it.

Michael had been dared to get something or other from their dorm — Harry wasn’t sure about the details — but came down and over to the trio instead of returning to his place in the circle.

“The owl is back for you,” he said sullenly. “It tried to bite me when I reached for the letter.”

Harry nodded, then half-stood, half-rolled off the couch. The stairs seemed extra steep as he made his way to his room, and sure enough, the owl was flying around, hooting softly.

“I guess you’re here for me then,” Harry said, holding his arm out as a perch.

_ Your turn: tell me something about you no one knows. _

_ I’m feeling reckless. _

Harry stared at the letter for a moment, the words blurred in front of him. He knew he was past the point of tipsy, knew he probably should wait until morning and respond then, but he too was feeling a bit reckless — an effect of the alcohol, he was sure.

**_I kissed my best friend’s brother this past summer._ **

Harry laughed as the owl flew off into the night. There were very few secrets he had from Ron and Hermione, but while they knew his sexuality wasn’t as straightforward as he had once thought, who he had figured that out with was a topic he hadn’t yet breached with them.

_ Oh, Merlin. Which one? Do I want to know? _

_ And your handwriting, while usually atrocious, is worse than usual. Are you all right? _

**_There’s a party in the common room; I may have indulged in a bit of alcohol before receiving your letter._ **

**_And it was the dragon tamer. He was home from Romania for the summer, with all there was to do here._ **

The letter writer either seemed to sense Harry’s desire to avoid the topic of the war, or had similar feelings of their own, as they chose not to comment of the obvious reasons for Charlie being in England.

_ Mm, I remember him at the Triwizard Tournament; he was fit then. What happened? Is he pining away for you in Romania? _

**_We were both drinking; he was tipsy, I was drunk. I had always felt drawn to him, but there was undercurrent of something more this time around._ **

**_So I kissed him. He stopped it from going any further, and we had a nice discussion about it the next day. Gave me some terms to try on for size._ **

_ That’s truly not what I expected when I asked for a secret. Can I please be there if you decide to tell Ron? _

_ For that, I'll even get down on my knees and beg. _

Harry sucked in a breath, taking a moment before he responded.  


**_That would be a bit easier if I knew who you were._ **

_ I’m rolling my eyes. _

_ I hope you don’t regret this whole conversation in the morning. _

**_As long as you don’t tell anyone, then we’re okay._ **

_ You can trust me, remember? _

Harry made his way back down to the party, stumbling a bit over the stairs as he went. There were a handful of new faces, and he smiled at them as he searched for his friends. With so many people, it took him longer than usual to spot Ron’s ginger hair in the crowd.

He walked over and leaned against his friends.

“All right there, mate?”

“Yeah, good,” Harry said, squeezing between Ron and Hermione.

He found himself face to face with Blaise, who raised an eyebrow and took a sip from the bottle. It must have been a new one — there hadn’t been much left when Harry had gone to his dorm.

“I would offer to share, but it seems you’ve had enough,” Blaise smirked.

Ron laughed. “The Slytherins just got here; I think they were having a secret meeting or something — Hey!” He turned to Blaise, who had shoved him good-naturedly.

Harry automatically looked around, finding Pansy and Malfoy sitting on a couch together, heads huddled over their mostly-full glasses.

Hermione sighed. “Some things never change,” she muttered.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't drink, kids. If you do, then you have to deal with the consequences in the morning. (:
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me! <3

Harry woke up with a raging hangover, surrounded by pieces of paper and a patiently waiting owl. With it, an unopened letter — a cream envelope and wax star — and a vial.

Not wanting to keep the owl waiting any longer, he first took the envelope and the vial, which upon further inspection, he realised was a hangover potion.

Harry tipped the potion back and swallowed the contents. Almost immediately, his headache lessened and the room stopped spinning. Now that he could think, he opened the letter.

_ After last night, I thought you might need it. _

Groaning in appreciation, Harry grabbed his quill and the empty envelope to write back on.

**_I could kiss you right now._ **

**_It’s been a while since I let loose like that, and even though it was fun, my head definitely did not appreciate it._ **

_ After our conversation last night, I’m don’t know whether you actually mean that. _

Harry looked at the letter. Their conversation? He turned to the scraps of parchment littering his bed and let his head drop back onto the pillow. Maybe if he smothered himself, he wouldn’t have to face the consequences of revealing his secrets to a — potential — stranger while drinking.

After a few minutes of wallowing in self-pity, Harry forced himself up. While he only had half the conversation, just the notes he had received, it was clear what they had discussed. There was a moment where he worried, considering the complications that could arise if his mystery writer decided to share the information, but the moment passed.

Harry wasn’t worried.

Maybe it was stupid — maybe he would come to regret it, but he was trusting his gut. He trusted this person.

And honestly, he wanted to tell them more.

He looked at the letters one more time, then wrote without questioning it.

**_Well, you offered to get on your knees. Thought a kiss may be well deserved._ **

_ Harry Potter, are you flirting with me? _

Harry laughed. Quill poised, he paused for a moment to gather his thoughts, and to make sure he was writing what he truly meant.

**_I think I might be._ **

_ I’ll have you know, I’m not some thirteen-year-old girl waiting to be swept off her feet by the Saviour. You’ll have to do better than that. _

**_Okay. I will._ **

Leaving the bed unmade and his clothes from the previous day balled up on the floor, Harry made his way to the Great Hall, finding Ron and Hermione already sitting at the Gryffindor table. They looked marginally better than he felt, and Hermione couldn’t hold back a laugh when she saw him.

“Honestly, I thought you’d look worse,” she said. “After the amount you drank last night…”

Harry reached for a serving of just about everything. Food sounded like a great idea, a way to calm his stomach.

“You remember most of last night?” Ron asked. His freckles stood out even more than usual against his pale skin.

Harry nodded. “A few bits missing, mostly specific conversations, but yeah, I remember.”

“Do you remember calling Pansy a bitch?”

Harry looked at Hermione in horror. “I did  _ what _ ?”

She laughed. “You told her she was a bitch, but ‘in like, a good way.’ It was actually sweet. You went on the tell her you respected her.” Hermione paused for a moment, then continued. “You know I would have pulled my wand on you if you used that as an insult.”

Ron nodded, confirming Harry’s misfortune. “Then you then went around asking everyone their favourite place at Hogwarts, but you wouldn’t tell anyone why you wanted to know. It was a little creepy, really.”

Harry groaned. “It’s one of the few things I know about the letter writer — they told me their favourite place.”

“Most of the Slytherins refused to answer; you were a bit scary.”

Harry stabbed a sausage with his fork in response.

On their way to Defence, Harry saw the Slytherin trio. Turning to his friends, he grimaced and walked over.

“Parkinson, I —”

She held up a hand. “I’m sure you’re trying to do what you think is right and apologise, but there’s no need. I tried to give you up to the Dark Lord, you called me a bitch. And somehow I really do think you meant it as a compliment.” Pansy smiled slightly. “We’re good, okay?”

“Okay,” he replied.

Harry turned and made his way into the classroom, missing the look of contemplation Malfoy shot his way.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life got in the way and this is a day late, but here's the update for the 12th!

**_I want to meet you._ **

The owlery was cold, a chill in the air cutting through Harry’s warm robes and the warming charm he had placed on himself. Winter was upon them, and while the castle looked even more magical than usual with the snow covering the grounds, winter was always a strange time for Harry.

It was a reminder of all he had — he had been invited to both the Weasley’s and the Granger’s homes for the holiday — but it was also a stark reminder of all he had lost: Not only had the war taken his parents, but it had taken so many of their friends. He’d never know if his mom would have knitted scarves with Mrs Weasley, or if his dad would like to sit with Mr Weasley and talk about rubber ducks and the strange things Muggles used.

There was so much to think about during the holiday season, but more than ever, Harry’s attention was on his letter writer and their correspondence.

He had meant what he wrote. This person was funny, snarky, witty — they were smart, and Harry thought he might be falling for them.

_ I don’t think that’s a good idea. _

**_Why not?_ **

_ I should never have written you a letter, I should have known you’d respond and decide this was somehow a fated encounter. _

_ We’re not supposed to be friends. I wrote to you selfishly, because I wanted to hide behind a mask and tell you what I thought. You weren’t supposed to try and befriend me. _

_ I’m sorry, Harry. _

**_It’s funny, how so many of our actions and our paths are determined by other people. You didn’t know how I would react, and you sent it anyway — but honestly, anyone who knows anything about me knows that I don’t give up easily._ **

**_Take off the mask. Meet me._ **

* * *

There was no reply. It had been hours, and hours, and there was no reply.

“Harry? Are you even listening to me?”

Harry snapped back to reality, eyes focusing back on Hermione in front of him.

“I’m sorry — really,” he said, smiling ruefully. “I told you I wouldn’t be good company tonight.”

She closed the Ancient Runes textbook she had been studying from. “Then tell me what’s going on with you. You don’t talk enough about  _ you _ .”

He shrugged. He knew Hermione wouldn’t support him in a quest to befriend someone who had made it quite clear they wanted to be left alone.

So he went with the other true answer.

“You know how it is around the holidays.”

Hermione nodded. “I know. And I know it isn’t the same, but you’re always welcome to come home with me, and I know Ron’s invited you to the Burrow as well.”

“I appreciate it.” Harry smiled.

“As long as you know that you aren’t alone.”

“I do.”

She reached out and grabbed his hand, and they sat for a moment in silence, both thinking of the war..

“I know we were talking about you, but it reminded me — Ron’s sadder than he’s letting on. It’ll be their first Christmas without Fred.”

Harry nodded. He knew; they all did.

“Talk to him, will you?”

He laughed. “I’ll offer to play him in chess, all right?”

Hermione shook her head. “Boys,” she said fondly.


	13. Chapter 13

It was the first day with no letter.

There was no owl waking Harry up, no cream envelope dropping in during breakfast. No caustic comments or casual flirtation.

There was no letter.

Harry started to worry, to fear that he had ruined their correspondence — their budding friendship — by being a bit forceful in encouraging the letter writer to meet him. But what was the point if they only ever communicated over owl? This was someone he could see himself being friends with, someone he wanted to get to know better, preferably in flesh instead of in ink.

Care of Magical Creatures was his final lesson for the day, and after it ended, he let Ron and Hermione head up to the castle without him, choosing instead to take the opportunity to go to the owlery. It was early evening, the sun already setting as he made his way up the steps.

Classes were out for the day, and dinner had yet to start, so Harry felt it would be a good time to reach out to the letter writer. Still, it took him more than a few minutes to allow his thoughts to coalesce and to figure out what he wanted to say.

**_Please don’t ignore me._ **

**_You’re the one who reached out to me — for whatever reason, you decided that we should communicate. Selfish or otherwise, you had something to say to me._ **

**_Don’t push me away now. Maybe it’s too soon to meet, and maybe it isn’t, but I’d rather have something with you than nothing._ **

With a great deal of foresight, he had worn his warmest robes, knowing that it may be difficult to get a response. If the letter writer was intent on ignoring him, Harry had a challenging evening ahead of himself.

But he was determined to get a reply.

Harry waited an hour before sending another letter.

**_I thought we had something. Are you cutting ties because you’re scared?_ **

Half an hour and Harry was getting annoyed. Maybe it was stupid to be angry about being ignored by someone whose name he didn’t know, but in that moment, it didn’t matter.

Harry didn’t trust easily, he didn’t love easily; to be a member of his inner circle — to be his friend — was a place not easily earned. Being the Boy Who Lived came not only with fame, but with the ever-annoying idea that his life was for everyone else to know. Reporters published secrets about his life with absolute disregard towards how he felt, they dug through his past and aired whatever they thought would make a good story, ignoring the consequences that their words left Harry to deal with.

He had opened up to this person, had shared with them secrets that others didn’t know, had allowed them to see a side of himself he rarely showed to strangers.

The responding silence hurt to a degree which surprised him.

He channelled the hurt into anger, and sent one final message before leaving the owlery.

**_You’re a coward._ **


	14. Chapter 14

Harry couldn’t sleep that night. His mind was racing with fears of the unknown — of finishing school and needing to figure out his next steps, of the letter writer and their capricious relationship.

He’d called them a coward.

As soon as the tawny owl had disappeared with the letter, Harry regretted his choice of words, the anger in which he had written them, but it was too late to stop it from being delivered. And while he wouldn’t repeat his actions, his anger was real, and in a twisted way, he still wanted the letter to reach its target.

He made his way to the common room, bringing a blanket from his bed and lighting the fire once he arrived. The warmth filled the room, and the flickering light cast everything in soft shadows.

Harry was glad that the eighth years’ common room was still above ground; he couldn’t imagine being in the dungeons. He loved seeing the stars, the mountains, loved sitting in bed and watching the snow as it fell. There was a sense of freedom being on a broom, and there was a smaller sense of that when being able to look out the window and see the vastness that surrounded them.

He glanced towards the window now, and while it was dark outside, he could just make out the shape of something against the glass.

An owl.

_I know what I am, thank you very much._

**_I shouldn’t have written that._ **

_But you did. Just because you said it in anger doesn’t mean you don’t think it to be true._

**_I don’t know what to think when it comes to you._ **

_Really?_

_Because it seemed that you liked me. Now you’re not sure?_

**_I do like you. But you’re just so — Merlin, I don’t even know what you are._ **

_Complicated?_

**_Sure, we can go with that._ **

_My whole life is just a little complicated right now. I don’t need any uncertainty, and whatever this is, it’s definitely open to question._

**_That doesn’t mean you should just cut me out._ **

_Maybe, maybe not. But for now, I think it’s for the greater good._

_That might make me a coward, but believe it or not — I’m trying to do the best thing for both of us._

**_I’ve lived my whole life for the “greater good.” I’m tired of it. I’m tired of letting other people determine what’s best for me._ **

The fire was starting to die, and the owl didn’t return. It was late, and there was a definite possibility that the other person had fallen asleep, but Harry had a sinking feeling that they were serious about cutting off communication. Somehow he knew: If it was left up to the letter writer, that would be the last of their notes.

In the hope that he was wrong — in the hope that the owl would return, a new letter for Harry held in its grasp — Harry stayed up. Warmth was still emanating from the embers of the fire, and Harry felt safe cocooned in his blanket. The owl didn’t return, but not too long after, the portrait did swing open, and it revealed Malfoy climbing through.

Harry yawned as he looked up. “Breaking curfew?”

“Merlin!” Malfoy jumped, his eyes wide. “I didn’t realise anyone was still up. You do know you’re sitting alone in the dark?”

Harry shrugged. “The fire went out and I couldn’t be arsed to move.”

Malfoy looked caught between wanting to escape to the dorms, and wanting to talk. Harry was surprised when he decided to sit, lowering himself onto the couch opposite Harry.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Harry nodded. “You too?”

It was Malfoy’s turn to nod. He raised his wand and the fire burst back to life.

They sat in comfortable silence for what seemed like hours, the crackling of the logs the only sound in the room.

Eventually, Malfoy started to yawn, his head tilting forward as he struggled to stay awake, and so he finally stood. As he passed behind Harry, and put his hand on Harry’s shoulder, a fleeting, momentary touch before he disappeared up the dormitory stairs.


	15. Chapter 15

“You still have _no idea_ who they’re from?” Hermione asked, as she shared a knowing look with Ron.

Harry sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “No, I already said that.”

More than ever, Harry was desperate to know who the letters were from. He couldn’t bear to lose the fragile connection he had built with this other person.

He paused as the door opened, but upon realising it was just Blaise, he continued, voice slightly lower. “I felt like I was getting close, but now they’ve stopped responding. I asked to meet and they cut ties soon thereafter.”

“You’re discussing the letters?” Blaise didn’t wait for a response. “At least wait until I’m out of the room, I can’t have this conversation twice in the span of five minutes. ‘Do you think he meant what he wrote? Do you think we’ll ever be able to talk in person?’” His tone was slightly mocking, but he was smiling.

Harry shot up from where he was sitting. “What?”

Blaise gave him a slight smirk. “You thought the three of you were the only ones over-analysing everything that’s been sent? Draco’s been making Pansy and I do the same since you first responded.”

Harry felt his mouth drop open like they were in a horrible comedy. He couldn’t help but mentally run through every letter he’d received, the phrases and the conversations, trying to find some clue that he had missed. How could he not have seen it?

It was Malfoy. Of course it was Malfoy.

“I’m sorry,” Blaise said, his smirk growing. “Were we all still pretending not to know who they’re from?”

Ron groaned, falling back on his bed and Hermione buried her head in her hands.

Harry turned to look back at his friends, incredulous. “You knew?” he asked, disbelief showing through in his voice. “You knew they were from _Malfoy_ and you didn’t think it was relevant to tell me?”

Hermione straightened, stubbornness flashing in her eyes. “We thought you knew, you idiot! Who else could it be? We thought you had to know, and that you just didn’t want it to be true.”

“And it’s been good for you, mate,” Ron chimed in. “You were bored at the beginning of the year — this gave you something to do; it gave you a mystery to be solved.”

“But I haven’t been pretending!” Harry protested.

“Yes, you have. Hermione knew after seeing the handwriting — if she can recognise that, then I guarantee you could have too. I’m not sure when Ron put it together, only that he did it ages ago.” Blaise took a breath. “You’re scared to care about him, and that’s okay. But he’s going to need a friend, and for some reason, he’s chosen you to reach out to.”

Harry sat on the floor, head resting on the bed behind him. He felt entirely overwhelmed, and in all honesty, slightly defeated. He had known from the beginning that Malfoy was the obvious option, but Blaise was right — he hadn’t wanted to see it. The letter writer was his friend, or at least had been; he hadn’t wanted to think about what it meant if it was Malfoy.

They had been corresponding for two weeks, and had ended with Harry calling the letter writer — Malfoy — a coward, and Malfoy deciding it was “best” to no longer write. The situation seemed to be spiralling, and Harry was scared that he couldn’t fix it.

Then the rest of Blaise’s words hit him.

“What do you mean, he’s going to need a friend?”

Blaise shook his head. “That’s not mine to tell, but I promise you’ll know in the morning. Just don’t hurt him now, okay?”

Harry nodded. “I don’t plan to —”

Blaise turned the full weight of his gaze on Harry. “I don’t care if you _plan_ to; I need you to just make sure you don’t. Look, you don’t have to stay friends with him — the letters weren’t supposed to go on this long — but please,” Blaise shook his head, “please just think before you act.”


	16. Chapter 16

The next morning, as the owls brought _The Daily Prophet,_ the Great Hall fell into a moment of silence. There was a collective pause once the papers landed, students craneing to see the front page, the only noise the rustling of newspapers. Then, the whispers broke out.

Harry grabbed his own copy and glanced down, only to be met with a family photo of the Malfoys. It was a few years old, before the war and before the dark circles were permanently etched beneath Draco’s eyes.

But the photo wasn’t important; it was the headline drawing everyone’s attention.

The front page story, taking up the top fold of _The Daily Prophet:_ Malfoy Patriarch Kissed by Dementors.

Immediately, Harry looked up, towards the Slytherin table. Blaise and Pansy were both there, eating breakfast as if it was a regular day, as if nothing was wrong. If he didn’t know they better, Harry may have been fooled — but he did know them. He could see the tightness in Blaise’s shoulders and the way Pansy’s smile was too bright.

They were trying to pretend everything was fine, but Harry knew they were worried. There was an empty space next to them, and Harry started to stand, intending to walk over and talk to them, but Blaise caught Harry’s eye and shook his head.

It wasn’t the time, nor was it the place. There would only be more gossip, more rumours, if Harry went to speak with them now.

That didn’t change the fact through that Malfoy was gone.

And Harry was worried.

* * *

It wasn’t until evening that Harry had he chance to speak with — really, to corner — Blaise.

He knew that his friends were preoccupied, and he entered Ron and Blaise’s room to find Blaise lounging on his bed.

Blaise sighed. “I figured you’d have questions.”

Harry took the unspoken invitation and sat.

“I don’t know where to begin,” Harry said.

Blaise waited for Harry to figure it out.

“Where is he?”

“Home,” Blaise said. “He went to be with his mother. The sentence was kept quite, but Draco has known for about two weeks.”

“That’s about when the letters started.”

Blaise nodded. “I think it started as a way for him to atone for his mistakes; for Draco to separate himself from his father and for him to show himself that he was better than Lucius.” There was a pause before he continued, flippant. “Of course, that’s just speculation.”

“So I started as a way for him to get back at his father?”

“No. Harry, you’ve always been more. But I’m not the one to explain it.”

“You do care about him, don’t you?”

Blaise nodded. “I might not always show it — Pansy may not either — but he’s one of our closest friends. Whatever you think of us, just know: we’re doing our best to protect him.”

“I trusted the person I was writing to.” Harry took a deep breath. “I trusted Draco.”

“Trusted, or trust? There’s a potentially insurmountable distance with the addition of a suffix.”

“Trust,” Harry corrected. “I trust him.”

“Then show him that.”


	17. Chapter 17

Harry was trying to eat breakfast, stare at the Slytherin table without looking like he was staring at the Slytherin table, and listen to Hermione at the same time.

It wasn’t working.

Hermione fell silent, and Harry quickly turned to look at her.

Hoping it was the correct answer, Harry said, “Sounds great, ‘Mione.”

She rolled her eyes. “I just told you that Ron left me for Filch. It was quite the dramatic fiction.”

Harry sighed as Ron laughed.

“He’s not even at the table,” she said.

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but Hermione cut him off.

“Don’t even pretend you don’t know who I’m talking about.”

“I just want to see him.”

“You’re worried,” Hermione said, sounding curious and a bit surprised.

Running his fingers through his hair, Harry groaned. “I just want to make sure he’s okay.”

Ron smiled, a shite-eating grin spread across his face. “Someone has a crush.”

Harry shoved Ron, and he felt his face heat up at the mere implication — not that it was necessarily wrong.

“You aren’t denying it,” Hermione said, always the voice of reason. “You should talk to him.”

“I can’t — as you so helpfully pointed out, he’s not at the table.”

She reached for her bag, pulling out a piece of parchment and a quill. “Idiots. I’m surrounded by idiots.” She thrust them towards Harry. “How have you been communicating with him thus far?”

“He stopped responding to my letters though.”

“That doesn’t mean he stopped reading them, mate.”

Harry nodded, and grabbed the quill. “I don’t know what to say.”

“That,” Hermione said, “you need to figure out for yourself.”

Harry nodded. Ron and Hermione stood, making their way to class, while Harry grabbed the parchment and the quill and went to the owlery. He was the Boy Who Lived — he could afford to skip a class or two.

The letter felt like a lifeline, like a make or break moment and Harry wasn’t willing to lose. It had to be perfect.

**_I can’t say I’m sorry about your father’s sentence; I won’t do us the disservice of lying, but I can say that I’m sorry for the pain this must be causing you and you mother._ **

**_She saved my life, and over the course of the last few weeks, over the course of our correspondence, you’ve become someone that I care about. That didn’t change just because I figured out who you were, and if you disagree, then you clearly don’t know me as well as you thought._ **

**_I’m sorry that you’re suffering; I’m sorry that the war is still controlling our lives and its aftereffects are still able to determine our emotions._ **

**_I want you to know that I’m here, if you need a friend._ **

**_I’m here, if you need anything._ **

**_— Harry_ **

Signing his name was a split-second decision, and as he watched the owl fly away, he wasn’t sure that it was the right one.

Admitting they were Harry and Draco — Potter and Malfoy — there was no going back from that, there was no way to pretend they were anything else once their names were officially attached.

But it also seemed like the only step to take.

They knew — they both knew; there was no use in pretending, in deceiving themselves. It was better to bring their pasts, their differences to the surface, show the wounds and allow them to heal in the light of day.


	18. Chapter 18

The response came just as the sun was rising. Harry woke, curled under blankets, to a soft tapping at the window and a one-line note.

_ Thank you. _

_ — Draco _

It wasn’t much, but Harry was immensely relieved to have received anything at all.

* * *

It had only been a couple of days since the news, since the announcement of Lucius’ sentence, so perhaps it wasn’t surprising that Draco hadn’t yet returned to Hogwarts. But with winter hols coming up soon, Harry wasn’t sure they’d have a chance to talk — to really talk — before break. It worried him.

After his conversation with Blaise a few days ago, Harry had tried to get more answers out of him, but it seemed Blaise had been sworn to secrecy in any matter involving Draco. He wouldn’t say how Draco was doing and he wouldn’t say when Draco was planning to return.

When Harry asked, he had just laughed.

“I know you’re still talking,” he said. “If you want to know, then send him a letter.”

There was some truth to that though, as Harry’s latest letter had somehow opened the floodgates. Draco had taken the lifeline Harry presented and was holding on with both hands: Harry went from being worried that he has lost his newfound friend — had lost Draco — to being almost overwhelmed with letters throughout the day.

Still, there seemed to be an unspoken barrier, a limit on the letters wherein they only spoke of the mundane. After the initial signing of names, there was no mention of who they were, no discussion of the cause behind Draco’s absence.

Harry knew that wouldn’t last — Draco would return eventually, and they would be forced to confront their feelings for one another, whatever they may be, but it was enough for now. It was reassuring, seeing the owl swoop down with a letter, knowing that things hadn’t been irrevocably broken between them.

Draco needed a friend, and Harry could do that, even if they were just discussing innocuous matters for the time being.

There were notes about the peacocks at the Manor, the weather, falling behind in class and missing out on the last Hogsmeade weekend before break.

Harry responded in kind, keeping his letters light and reassuring. 

He wrote of Seamus trying to — again — smuggle Firewhisky back into the dorms, but being so obvious about it that McGonagall couldn’t turn a blind eye even if she wanted to. He wrote of the Quidditch match Draco had missed; while eighth years weren’t allowed to play, that hadn’t taken away anyone’s spirit for the game.

It seemed like everything brought them back to the war, just just for the day, Harry was willing to pretend, willing to allow them to sidestep the elephant in the room and take a moment for themselves to heal.

They had to talk eventually — these letters were just stalling, but at the same time, Harry was okay with that. They had time to figure out the serious matters; that didn’t need to happen now.

For the first time in a long time, Harry was hopeful.


	19. Chapter 19

The letters, as Harry knew they would, eventually regained the more serious tone they typically embodied.

Harry was woken, shaking and sweating — his scar burning with a phantom pain — by a tapping on his window, as was becoming custom. The letter from Draco included nothing of real importance, so instead of responding directly to the words written, Harry wrote of the fears brought to the surface by his nightmare.

**_Do you think it ever gets better? Do you think we ever fully heal from the trauma of the war — of Voldemort?_ **

**_I can’t see fire without thinking of the Room of Requirement, of your weight on my broom. I can’t see a snake without thinking of Nagini. I dream that Ron and Hermione died in the Final Battle, that Voldemort won and we were left with nothing._ **

**_Does it ever stop?_ **

**_Is it ever, really, over?_ **

Harry worked to relax, to slow his breathing as he waited for a response. The mind healer he had seen after the war talked to him about panic attacks and how to deal with them. There had been so many tricks, but when one hit, sometimes Harry felt the only thing to do was to let it pass.

Now, with the nightmare over, he knew his breathing was unsteady, but he was in control enough to slow it and was able to keep himself calm.

He stretched, focusing on his body in the present moment, and before long the owl had returned.

_ Mother and I completely rearranged the Manor after the Dark Lord was here. Greg and I can’t speak without feeling like a piece of ourselves is missing. I can’t use my own wand without thinking of you. _

_ I think — I hope — it gets better, but I don’t know that it ever truly goes away. I’ve been seeing a mind healer, and that’s helped me to heal, but they talk about coping, learning to manage the pain. They don’t talk about it leaving. _

_ Maybe I was wrong when I said we’d never understand each other; I think we experienced the war in a deeper way than many of the others. _

_ That’s not to say that they didn’t suffer, but there are things the others were lucky enough to not experience. _

**_Sometimes I question what the point of winning was, when people are still in so much pain._ **

**_The holidays are almost upon us, and all I can think about is Teddy growing up without Remus, and the empty chair at the Weasley’s home._ **

_ The point of winning was saving so many lives. The point was preserving our culture and our world the way we know it. _

_ The point was saving us all from destruction; please don’t let yourself forget it. _

_ You were the epicenter, Harry. You were the core of the entire war — of course those closest to you were more likely to die. _

_ But that also says something about them. They were willing to give their lives for  _ you, _ for the  _ cause  _ — near the end, those were one and the same. _

_ Yes, there are empty chairs. Yes, we’re a little fucked up. But think of the first years who entered Hogwarts in September — think of how much smaller that class would have been without the Muggleborns or the half-bloods. _

_ That was the point of winning. _

Harry knew. He did. Soon after the war, when the loses all seemed so fresh, Harry had brought his concerns to Ron and Hermione, and they had given him much the same answer.

But it helped to hear it from someone else; someone who had always been honest with him — even when that honesty stung.

**_Thank you._ **

**_I know you’re right — I know we were all fighting for something good, but sometimes, when faced with what we lost, I still have to question whether I made the right decisions throughout._ **

_ Don’t flatter yourself — no one makes all the right decisions, especially not a seventeen year old. _

_ That being said, you made most of the right decisions, and even when they were wrong, you made them for the right reasons. _

**_Still. Sometimes it doesn’t feel that easy._ **

_ Now you’re just being petulant. _

_ Get some rest, lay these maudlin thoughts down and pick them up in the light. Everything seems worse at night. _

Harry stifled a laugh and did as he was told, pulling the blankets back over him and closing his eyes.

The nightmares didn’t return that night.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kudos and such lovely comments thus far. <3 I truly appreciate the love this story is getting.

Harry woke, and knew Draco had been right; he felt better in the light of day. The fears and the insecurities — all of the questions — were still there, but they were less persistent in Harry’s mind than they had been during the night.

He felt calm in a way he rarely did. His mind was usually spinning in a million different directions — had been since before the war — coming up with battle plans and strategies to keep his friends safe, but this morning, he felt like he could breathe.

And he knew that sense of calm had more to do with speaking with Draco that it did the light filtering through his heavy curtains.

He never thought he’d believe it — never thought he’d have reason to, but Draco made him better.

That realisation was less of a shock than he thought it should be; instead, it was more like a piece of a puzzle slotting into place. Harry had been doing better for the last few weeks, he had been happier and had more energy to go to class and interact with his friends.

Still, he wasn’t naive: He knew that he had his issues and he wasn’t expecting Draco to fix them. He wouldn’t put that on Draco, wouldn’t ask him to do it and even if he did, he knew it wouldn’t work.

Draco had been right in his letter — they may never fully heal from the war, but that didn’t mean that Draco didn’t make the pain slightly easier to bear.

* * *

Slowly, sleepily, Harry made his way down to breakfast. After his early awakening to correspond over owl, he had slept peacefully, but it still felt too early to be awake. Yawning, he arrived in the Great Hall and found his friends, Ron’s ginger hair and Hermione’s mass of curls hard to miss, even amongst the crowd.

“You’re lucky we saved some food for you, mate.”

Hermione glanced up from her book and laughed. “Ron — don’t even pretend you didn’t try to eat Harry’s plate.” She looked over at Harry, speculative. “Late night? You’re usually here a bit earlier.”

He shrugged. “Nightmares again, but I’m feeling better.”

“You really should —”

“Talk to a mind healer?” Harry interrupted. He grabbed Hermione’s hand and squeezed. “I know. And I think I might try that again.”

Ron smirked. “Have you been talking to someone else?”

Harry felt his face flush. “I  _ may  _ have been writing to Draco last night.”

“Since when is he Draco?”

“Uhm, well —” Harry paused. He didn’t actually know when the change occurred, only that it had. There hadn’t been a defining moment, a switch flipped between the two names, but he knew that somewhere along the line, he had decided it was time. “He’s not his father. He’s not anyone but himself, and I guess I wanted to respect that.”

Hermione nodded. “We worry about you — we will always worry about you, but we trust you. Ron and Blaise are friends. Pansy and I have been paired together in Ancient Runes more times than I can count and Hogwarts is still standing. If you want something, anything, to happen with Draco, then go for it.” She took a deep breath. “We’re here for you if you need it.”

Harry smiled, slightly uncomfortable with her earnestness, but aware that it came from a place of love and he truly appreciated her words. He knew he was lucky — his home life had always been awful, he was a child raised to die in battle, but somewhere along the way, he had found the most wonderful people to be friends with.

He looked at Ron and Hermione in front of him, their hands interlocked underneath the table, and he smiled.

“Thank you.”


	21. Chapter 21

_I’ll be back today. Just thought you might want to know._

**_I’ll look for you._ **

Harry clutched the letter and he felt a smile break out on his face. He wanted to see Draco, more than just about anything.

He was worried about him; he missed him. And he felt like they had so much to talk about — he needed to know what Draco was thinking.

* * *

Trepidation, anticipation, it had been building since Harry received the letter during his first class for the day, but it wasn’t until dinner that Harry first caught sight of the telltale blond hair.

Draco.

He put his pumpkin juice down so fast that half of it spilled on Neville, but Harry couldn’t be bothered to notice. He only had eyes for Draco, who was finally, _finally,_ back at Hogwarts.

Hermione started to turn, eager to see what had caught Harry’s eye, but a shake of Harry’s head caused her to abort the movement. Draco wasn’t the same as when he was a child — he no longer appreciated being the centre of attention, no longer wanted to be in command of a room.

And so Harry waited, not wanting to risk approaching and drawing unnecessary attention.

The rest of the meal passed with torturous slowness, but when they were finally dismissed, Draco moved too quickly and Harry lost him in the crowd. Refusing to lose his chance, Harry sped away from Ron and Hermione, weaving through the other students, but it was no use.

So he went to the first place he thought of, the most logical option.

“Where is he?” Harry asked, out of breath from running up the dormitory stairs.

He had checked the room Draco shared before coming to Blaise and Ron’s door, assuming Draco — like the rest of the students — had returned to the dorms after dinner.

Blaise levelled him with an even gaze. “You can’t possibly expect me to tell you.”

“Why not?”

“For one, if he wanted to be bothered, he would have told you himself. Or waited in the Hall so you could prance around together. And two, I honestly don’t know,” Blaise said as he shrugged. “I don’t keep track of where all my friends spend their time.”

It almost felt like a test — like if Harry couldn’t find Draco, he didn’t deserve to see him. Harry paused for a moment. His next thought was the owlery; Harry knew he personally had grown fond of the owl they typically sent back and forth, and figured Draco had too, but then it hit.

It was daft, to go outside this late — and in the cold — but he had to see Draco, and he knew exactly where he would find him.

Harry ran back to his room, grabbed his invisibility cloak and made his way across the grounds to the Astronomy Tower. He slowed as he ascended, taking care to quiet his steps. Harry had been so entirely focused on finding Draco that he hadn’t put much attention to what he would say once he found him.

The thought made him want to stop and take a moment to consider the consequences, but he knew that line of thought would find him back in the dorms with nothing. He refused to turn away now, not when he was so close to finally speaking with the letter writer — with Draco.

So he climbed, and when he reached the top, Harry found a familiar head of blond hair sat on the edge.

Harry dropped his cloak on the cold stone, took a deep breath and sat by Draco.


	22. Chapter 22

They sat in silence, sitting side by side, time stretching endlessly in front of them. Draco didn’t turn, didn’t say anything to acknowledge Harry, but as the minutes passed and the snow began to softly fall in front of them, his hand moved to the middle space between them, fingers nudging against Harry’s.

Harry turned his hand so the palm was up, and he felt them both exhale as Draco’s hand slid into his and their fingers intertwined.

He was scared to break the moment, scared to say anything at all, but it seemed Draco didn’t share the same hesitation.

“I hate feeling so… lost,” Draco said, still not looking at Harry.

Harry nodded; he knew the feeling. “You’ve made me feel less lost, over these past few weeks. Talking to you, even through our letters – Ron and Hermione made me see it, but you’ve made me happier.”

“I actually wanted to apologise,” Draco started. “For the letters. I didn’t mean to draw you in the way I did.”

“Draco —”

“That’s not to say I regret what I did, or what I may have gained from my actions,” he said, aiming a pointed glance at their still-joined hands.

“You make it sound like you lied.”

Draco hummed.

Harry struggled to keep his voice calm. “I was nothing but honest in what I wrote to you; can you say the same?”

“I never lied,” Draco said. “Do you really think so little of me?”

“No. I never doubted you, but now —”

“Do you ever regret coming back to Hogwarts?” Draco’s voice was calm, steady. “It would have been so easy, to just walk away after the war, go somewhere new.”

Harry took a moment to gather his thoughts. He felt like they were on the precipice of something, something larger than themselves, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“I feel like my time at Hogwarts was always building towards the war;  _ everything  _ was building towards the war,” Harry said. “Still, Hogwarts is the only real home I’ve ever had. I wanted to return. I wanted to build better memories before having to go out in the world.”

Draco nodded. “There’s safety in Hogwarts.” He continued, more quietly, “There’s safety in you.”

Harry turned to look at Draco, frustrated that Draco was still looking out over the grounds.

“You can’t just say things like that — Draco, we need to talk about whatever it is we’re doing.”

“Whatever it is?”

“The letters, that night in the common room, I don’t know what to define this as, so yes, whatever it is that we’re doing.”

“This is ridiculous, you know,” Draco said, rolling his eyes and trying to pull his hand away.

“Draco —”

“Harry — you and I aren’t supposed to be friends!” Draco blurted, ripping their hands apart. “Don’t you understand? You’re not supposed to like me.”

Harry laughed; he felt bad as soon as he did, but he couldn’t help it.

“Draco, when have either of us done what we were supposed to?”

“You don’t understand.”

“Then help me to.”

Harry wanted nothing more than to touch Draco, to walk up and comfort him, but he stayed sitting. Draco was pacing, his eyes wide and his hands fluttering as he spoke.

“This isn’t going to end well,” Draco said. “And I’m the one who’s going to be hurt when it falls to pieces.”

“Draco —”

“I just need to think, okay? I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Impulsively, Harry stood and grabbed Draco’s hand before he could flee.

“Nothing needs to happen right now. But just know that we’re friends now, whether you meant for that to happen or not.” Harry took a breath. “And I’m here for you, in whatever way you need.”

Draco quirked a smile. “You can’t just decide that we’re friends, Potter.”

Harry shrugged and smiled, squeezing Draco’s hand before letting go.


	23. Chapter 23

**_Why would you be the one to get hurt?_ **

With all that Draco was going through, Harry felt like it was safer to return to their letters instead of continuing the conversation in person. Draco was a bit volatile at the moment, a bit unpredictable and Harry didn’t want to upset him any further.

The response didn’t come immediately, but Harry didn’t expect it to. They were finished with classes until after winter hols, and people were busy either going home on the Hogwarts Express or relaxing in their common rooms.

Ron and Hermione were both disappointed that Harry had decided to stay at the castle, but Harry didn’t want to impose on their celebrations. He knew he was welcome — he always would be — but it was the first Christmas after the war, and he didn’t want to overstep his bounds.

And then Blaise let slip that Draco wasn’t planning on leaving, which sealed the decision. More than ever, Harry knew Draco needed a someone to confide in.

He just hoped that Draco would choose him.

_ You know how you only recently decided that we could be friends? _

_ I’ve wanted to be your friend since we were eleven years old, Harry. Someone always cares more in a relationship, and because they have more to lose, they’re the ones more easily hurt. _

**_I may have started to care later, but that doesn’t mean I care less._ **

_ Trust me; in this case, it does. _

They passed by each other in the halls — it was hard not to, when most of the students had gone home to be with their families — but their interactions were limited to furtive glances being shot back and forth.

**_I know we’re competitive, but are we really going to get into a competition over who cares the most?_ **

_ I don’t know, Potter — are we? _

Harry was exasperated, but he still couldn’t contain his smile.

**_Fuck, okay. You win. Sure._ **

**_You care more. What does that prove?_ **

_ Did you really mean every word of your letters? _

Surprised by the change in topic, Harry only took a moment before answering, his quill scratching against the parchment.

**_I would be lying if I said I remembered every single word I wrote, but I don’t believe I ever lied._ **

_ You told me once I was a coward. In another, you said you want to kiss me. _

_ Still say you meant every word? _

**_Yes._ **

_ Wow — call a man a coward, that’s the way to his heart. _

**_Is your heart on the table?_ **

_ It always has been; do try and keep up. _

**_Draco, how serious is this for you? How serious are you about me?_ **

_ I suppose we need to talk, don’t we? Meet me in Astronomy Tower tomorrow evening — say eight? _

_ Blaise told me I wouldn’t be able to hide forever, I suppose he was right. Though I do mean it when I say you were never supposed to know who I was. _


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you so much to everyone who has stuck with this, and who have left kudos or comments. <3 I had so much fun writing it and I really hope you’ve enjoyed reading. There’s a very short epilogue (just self-indulgent fluff) coming tomorrow, then I’m done!

Harry arrived at the Astronomy Tower at half past seven. He knew he was way too early, but he was also anxious to see Draco, to speak and to see where they stood when the evening was over.

At eight, Harry stood and started pacing.

When another fifteen minutes went by and there was no sign of anyone, he started to think Draco may not be coming. But it was only a few minutes later that Harry heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

Draco arrived, his hair windswept and his robes slightly disheveled.

“I apologise for being late; Slughorn caught me leaving the tower and wanted to talk.” Draco’s expression was pained. “He wanted to know how I was doing.”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh, the tension thoroughly diffused. He knew how Slughorn could go on and on.

“So maybe we should start at the beginning?” Harry said. “Do you want to tell me how the letters started?”

Draco sighed and sat, casting a cushioning charm on the ground and a warming charm on the area around them.

“I suppose.”

They sat facing each other on the stone, and Harry gave Draco a moment to gather his thoughts.

“My mind healer was talking about ways for me to deal with the trauma of the war,” he said, picking at a loose string on his cloak. “For me, in the last couple of years, you’ve become synonymous with the war. You saw me at my worst — you knew I was up to something with the cupboard, you were there in the Manor and the Room of Requirement with the Fiendfyre.”

“You were there for my worst moment too.”

Draco glanced up and gave Harry a sharp look. It took a moment before he realised what Harry meant.

“The bathroom?” His voice was full of disbelief. “I tried to  _ Crucio _ you — you don’t have to feel bad about cursing me.”

“But I shouldn’t have used that curse. I didn’t know what it did — it was irresponsible of me.”

“Harry,” Draco said, as he shook his head. “I think that’s another reason I wrote to you; of all the people I’d hurt, of all the people I needed to apologise to, I chose you. You always want to save everyone, and I guess I thought if I came to you anonymously, you’d forgive me through the letters.” Draco finally looked up, making eye contact with Harry. “It was daft, I know.”

“No, it wasn’t. I wouldn’t have been able to care about the letter writer if I knew it was you — and because of that, I ignored all the signs that told me you were the one sending the letters. Blaise had to say it in explicit terms before I accepted it.”

Draco smiled. “I couldn’t believe it when you actually responded. Pansy told me there was no chance in hell that you wouldn’t think a letter from a stranger was cursed.”

Harry laughed. “You’re lucky Hermione wasn’t there when the first letter came; she never would have let me open it.”

“But you did.”

Harry nodded. “I did.”

They fell into a companionable silence. They were still facing each other, a few feet of space between them. It felt like more.

Harry was the first to break the quiet, and knew as soon as he did that it was the wrong thing to say.

“How are you doing since your father’s sentence?”

Draco stared at him. “I’m not talking to you about that.”

Harry felt Draco shutting down, pulling away.

“You need to talk to someone.”

“Not you. I’d prefer to not speak with someone who hated my father.”

“I —”

“Don’t lie!” Draco snapped, getting to his feet. “Look, what do you want to hear? I miss him? Of course I miss him, he was my father. He may have been shite, but he was still my father. He taught me  _ Protego  _ and how to ride a broom; he took me on my first trip to Diagon Alley.” His voice dropped. “There was also a time in which he would have sold me to the Dark Lord to win a war.”

“You’re allowed to have mixed feelings,” Harry said, thinking of his own father.

“Yes, but most of the Wizarding World doesn’t want to hear it. Most witches and wizards believe my father got what he deserved; I just can’t be so quick to condemn him.”

Harry nodded. “I know you understand why I don’t like Lucius — why many witches and wizards were relieved to hear the sentence. But that doesn’t make your pain less valid, or less real.”

Draco sat back down, much closer to Harry than he was previously.

“It still hurts to talk about.”

Harry bumped Draco’s foot with his own.

“I know. Thinking of my parents still hurts and it’s been years.” He shrugged. “And I didn’t even know them.”

“When I heard the sentence,” Draco sighed. “It’s one of the reasons I reached out to you. I wanted to separate myself from him; sending you a letter — even if it wasn’t really an apology — it seemed like a step in the right direction.”

“You’re not your father.”

“I know.”

There was another lapse in the conversation, and Harry took the opportunity to say something else that he thought may upset Draco.

But it needed to be said.

“Your heart. How long has it been on the table?”

Draco threw his head back and laughed. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“I want to try.”

“Try what, Potter?”

“I want to take you out, on a date. I want to pull you over right now and kiss you.” Harry took a deep breath. “I want to get to know you — your plans for the future, your favourite childhood memory; I want to know everything.”

“That’s a little intimidating.”

Harry laughed. “Yeah. I guess so. But whether or not you meant for us to get to know each other through the letters, we did. And I want to know more.” He looked up, catching Draco’s eye. “You made me better, over the last couple weeks. You got me out of my own head, gave me something to focus on and something to think about. You challenge me.”

“Just what you need — another challenge in your life.”

“You challenge my ideas, make me justify my own position. So many people see me as ‘The Saviour,’ nothing more. They won’t fight me with the way you will.”

“Well, maybe if you had better ideas, people would need to challenge you less,” Draco said, smirking.

Harry laughed and leaned forward. “I was serious about kissing you.”

Draco leaned back against the wall. “What’s stopping you?”

Harry reached out and grabbed Draco’s hand, pulling the other man over to him. They were both smiling as Harry leaned in.

“Nothing,” he whispered, before closing the distance.

Draco’s lips were chapped from the cold, and he gasped when Harry kissed him. Harry took the opportunity to bite down lightly on Draco’s bottom lip before deepening the kiss.

After a moment, Draco pulled back, eyes wide. Before Harry had a chance to speak, Draco straddled him and crashed their mouths together again.

It was bliss.

Harry broke away and began kissing down Draco’s neck, breath warm against Draco’s cold skin.

“Yes — Harry,” Draco murmured, under his breath. “Yes, more — ah, there!”

They snogged for what seemed like hours, with Draco grinding down on Harry’s lap, both of them getting hard, but not wanting to take that next step.

Kissing was enough for now — sharing that closeness was something they both wanted.

When Harry pulled apart, they were both panting and he could hear the clock chiming midnight.

“Merry Christmas, Draco.”

Draco looked debauched; his hair was mused from Harry’s fingers and he had red marks trailing down his neck.

But he was smiling.

“Happy Christmas, Harry.”


	25. Chapter 25

Harry woke, a warm weight against his back. He rolled over to see Draco sprawled across his bed, legs intertwined with Harry’s own.

A soft press of Harry’s lips to Draco’s temple caused him to stir, yawning and stretching before his grey eyes opened. He saw Harry and smiled tentatively.

“Good morning,” Harry whispered.

The smile grew.

“Good morning,” Draco responded, before surging up and kissing Harry.

They had made their way back to the dorms last night, exhausted from kissing and exhausted from talking. Harry had asked Draco to stay, and so he did.

Things may never be perfect between the two of them — they were so different, and there was so much baggage to navigate, but at least last night had been a start at reconciliation.

They had snuggled together under the covers, seeking warmth and comfort, the thin fabric of their clothes acting as the only barrier between them. Harry had never before felt such an intimacy with another person.

And now, with Draco’s tongue seeking entrance into his mouth, Harry realised he could get used to this. He wanted to wake up with Draco in his bed, in his arms.

So he deepened the kiss and he held on a little bit tighter.

They could be happy: he just knew it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays to everyone celebrating!
> 
> Thank you all so much for the lovely comments; I had so much fun writing this story and reading what people thought of each chapter.
> 
> Feel free to come talk to me (and see what I’m working on next) on Tumblr, @all-drarry-to-me.


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